Classic and Contemporary Poetry
LIBERATION, by WINIFRED GRAY STEWART First Line: At midnight came a cool wind from the west, after days Last Line: The shadow of death has passed; now I can plant new seed in a living womb. Subject(s): Farm Life; Women; Agriculture; Farmers | ||||||||
At midnight came a cool wind from the west, after days Of breathless heat, of silence bred from smouldering soil, From brooding stones. She woke, thinking: The drought At last is broken; somewhere there must be rain. I feel Its breath in the rustle of the wind whipping the stiff leaves Of the cannas by his bedroom window. I hear it coming Across the prairie. Thinking: His land will be fed; his acres Flourish; and the cattle by the dry troughs drink and fatten. She slept then, dreaming Of rain sweeping over her flexed body in tender, Slow storm rhythms; she felt sweet sky-water swirling Around the hot shafts of her ankles, rising Past her aching knees, surrounding Her tense thighs with coolness and with motion... Oh, freshness! Oh, freedom! The rain was her lover, coming quickly, bringing Release to her wracked body; drenching The dry, dark land; lifting This fear of madness; ending Timeless days and nights of burning torment. Now Earth's freedom would be hers. She could face The morning without sickness seizing her vitals, tightening The hot steel bands about her throat, without terror gripping Her brain. She could carry the pails of mash out to the barn For the Jersey yearlings; scatter grain For the white Leghorns and the black Minorcas; fondle The new calves; take the young colt's velvet muzzle Between her palms, thinking: we have not failed you. Knowing their lives would go on. Dreaming, she tasted rain; saw Green blades on the storm-drenched prairie; heard The lean beasts low; felt the grateful grain drinking. Her nasturtiums by the back porch would bear blossoms; The wild pomegranates would hang their fiery lanterns; the fruit Would not wither before picking. She woke, and went into his room, stopping By the window to listen to the message of the wind in the clamorous Cannas. Thinking: Tomorrow he can turn the cow-peas under: chop cotton. Next year, terrace the north-west hillside; check erosion; rotate crops. Thinking: Mary and John, and Jason, his own namesake, shall have new shoes For school in September; for our lives swing on the shift of the seasons, On the gifts of rain and sun, beneficently balanced. He was breathing lightly; he must know, Even in sleep, that liberation was upon the land. She lay down by him, And relaxed. He turned to her and slowly wakened. Slowly perceiving, Taking her with gentleness and deliberation, he gave thanks silently With deep, firm rhythms of his body, for release for his thirsting acres, His patient creatures, his own wasted flesh and sick spirit, thinking: The shadow of death has passed; now I can plant new seed in a living womb. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...KICKING THE LEAVES by DONALD HALL THE FARMER'S BOY: WINTER by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD THE FARMER'S BOY: SPRING by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD THE FARMER'S BOY: SUMMER by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD THE FARMER'S BOY: AUTUMN by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD OCOTILLO by WINIFRED GRAY STEWART |
|